


Source Code

by murderinlaws



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, F/F, Flashbacks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2015-05-27
Packaged: 2018-03-24 23:56:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3789046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murderinlaws/pseuds/murderinlaws
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Taking place over two timelines, Root searches for those she has lost. After finding a surprising ally in the present, her search for Shaw takes a turn she never expected. Meanwhile, in the past, a young Sam Groves is hellbent on vengeance.</p><p>[Canon up until 4x13]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

_**15 April 1990** _   
_**Bishop, TX** _

At six o’clock, the Bishop public library had begun to clear out. The sun was setting and the students that had flocked there after school had been slowly making their way back home. All except same cast of preteens that found themselves there every day until closing and the librarian, Ms. Barbara.

Sam Groves peered conspiratorially around the edge of a bookshelf and down a dimly lit aisle. The light overhead flickered with a poor yellow bulb, and if she hadn’t spent a majority of her time here, the scene would have been eerie. To others, it probably was. Someone was standing at the far end of it. Their back was to her, but Sam knew who it was immediately. It was who she’d been looking for.

Silently, she tiptoed down the aisle, careful not to make a sound though the heavy rain storm outside would have made hearing even normal footsteps difficult anyway. April showers.

When she reached the end of the aisle, Sam poked the figure with a playful finger. “Hanna?”

Startled, Hanna Frey jumped a foot off the ground. “Geez, Sam!” She turned around to see the preteen in question wearing a toothy, triumphant grin. She retaliated with an eye roll and rough shove to the shorter girl’s shoulder. “Why do you always do that?”

“Do what?” Sam reached up to absentmindedly rub her shoulder though it hadn’t actually hurt. The playful shove was more affectionate than anything else.

“Sneak up on people like that.”

Sam shrugged. “It’s funny.”

When Hanna didn’t even crack a smile, Sam sighed. Her eyes scanned the bookshelf that Hanna been standing in front of, but she didn’t know what she was looking for. She frowned. She could tell that something was wrong. Technically speaking, they hadn’t known each other all that long. Hanna and her family had moved into town only two years ago, but already they were inseparable. Wherever Hanna was, Sam was never far behind. They had gotten to know each other quickly, and Sam didn’t have any other friends. At least none like Hanna.

“What’s wrong?”

There was a long pause, Hanna’s eyes shifted from Sam’s to a stack of books behind her and back to Sam. “It’s nothing.”

She was lying. Sam knew that much. Hanna could lie to anyone but her. There was something in her eyes that gave her away. Where most people - adults like teachers and parents - saw an innocence and light in Hanna’s eyes, Sam saw more. She was sad.

“It’s not nothing,” Sam mumbled in disagreement. “What is it? Did I do something?”

Hanna shook her head quickly. “It’s not you,” she assured. “It’s my dad.”

“Oh.” Sam shifted uncomfortably on her feet. Hanna didn’t talk much about her dad, but she knew there was a reason that Hanna came to the library every day instead of going home. Sam could deduce the rest.

“Yeah.”

For a moment, Sam thought about inviting Hanna back home with her, but she squashed the idea as quickly as she’d thought it up. That couldn’t happen even if she really wanted it to. It was complicated. Neither one of them delved much into their home lives though sometimes she wished she did. It might have made things easier, having someone to talk to about it. Instead, she changed the subject. “The library’s closing soon,” she said softly.

Hanna nodded and picked up two books that she had set down nearby. “I should check these out.” She turned and started walking back down the aisle that Sam had come from, Sam following quickly at her heels.

Neither one of them said anything as Hanna checked out her books, nothing but polite conversation to Ms. Barbara as Sam fidgeted with the straps of her backpack. When Hanna was finished sliding both books into her bag, they walked out through the front doors, stopping short right outside under the awning to stay dry. The rain hadn’t slowed up at all, and at this rate, it would probably be storming for the rest of the night.

“Do you wanna walk home together?” Sam suggested, contrary to their normal evening routine. They didn’t exactly live close together. In fact, they lived in entirely different directions. Sam lived alone with her mom on the south side of town while Hanna was further north with both her parents. The only reason that Sam went north was for school. She’d never even seen Hanna’s house.

Hanna gave her skeptical look.

“What?”

“If you walk with me, how are you going to get home?” Hanna asked, crossing her arms over her chest and raising her eyebrows.

Sam shrugged. “The same way I get there every day. It’s not that far,” she said confidently. While a part of her was playing up her confidence about walking through Bishop alone at night for Hanna’s benefit, it wasn’t as though she’d never done it before. Her mom didn’t have a car, so Sam walked most places except on the off chance that she had enough money for the bus. That was a rarity though. It was an eerie walk with most of the streetlights dim or dark completely, but Sam could power through it, her head down and her hands tight on her shoulder straps.

Hanna seemed unconvinced. It didn’t help that Sam was so small for her age. She was less than a year younger than Hanna, but still a few good inches shorter. “I don’t know, Sam. It’s late and it’s raining. You’ll be soaked by the time you get back home.”

“Yeah, but…” Sam started before letting her sentence fade into the storm. But she didn’t want Hanna to go home alone. Not if something was going on with her dad.

Hanna gave her a small, guarded smile. “It’s okay. I’ll be okay,” she promised. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” Sam agreed with a resolute nod. As they walked away from each other, Sam couldn’t help but steal one last look over her shoulder at Hanna’s retreating form. She hoped she’d be okay.

 _**Present Day** _   
_**New York City, NY** _

“Hey, Harry.” He heard her voice before he saw her. As Harold looked up from his computer, Root slid right in beside him, leaning back against his desk with her arms crossed loosely over her chest.

She was wearing a mischievous smile, but he got the sense, as always, that there was something she wasn’t telling him. A reason for her sudden appearance. “Ms. Groves,” he greeted with a nod. “You’re back.”

“Very astute.” Root smirked.

Unspoken questions hung in the air. _Why are you here? Why now?_   Root had always come and gone as she pleased - or rather, as the Machine pleased - but she had been more distant recently. Understandably so, after Shaw, but it made Harold nervous. She had been unpredictable before, but now, he feared she was a timebomb.

“What is it that you need, Ms. Groves?” He asked, his voice polite and reserved, but not insincere. At least, he didn’t sound it to her. Root knew that he would be apprehensive, but she was still a friend, a comrade in their seemingly unwinnable war.

Root’s eyes flickered from Harold’s computer back to his eyes, and for a flash, she was somewhere else. “She wanted me here.” She offered him an exaggerated shrug. “She’s the boss, right?”

She didn’t wait for him to respond before she scooped up the printed photo that was lying on the desk nearby. It was a woman, dark hair, dark eyes. She studied the picture for only a moment before holding it up to Harold. “New number?”

He hesitated. “In a manner of speaking.”

“Oh?” She raised an eyebrow. She knew that he was being purposefully vague, and on some level, she couldn’t really blame him. She didn’t even know what she was capable of anymore, how was he supposed to? Still, she would have appreciated even a slight vote of confidence. After all, it wasn’t like she’d killed anyone. Yet.

“Donna Osbourne,” he said finally. Another pause, followed by a deep frown. “She’s dead.”

“Since when does She give you expired numbers?”

“Expired, Ms. Groves?” He met her eyes with an expression that she couldn’t quite read. Disappointment, maybe.

She shrugged nonchalantly. “Come on. You know what I mean, Harry.”

Harold looked away and instead, towards the printed photo that she was still holding in her hands.“What happened to ‘every life matters?’”

“What happened to finding Shaw?” She bit back angrily before sighing. She was frustrated, but she didn’t blame him for giving up. It wasn’t his fault that she was gone. She was the one who asked Shaw to help them that day. “I’m sorry.”

Harold pulled the photo from her fingers and stood up from his desk. She didn’t resist. He walked over to the clear board and taped up the picture like he always did. Before turning around, however, his voice hardened as he posed a legitimate question. “If you don’t want to be here, Ms. Groves, then why are you?”

She wished she knew the answer. The Machine had told her to be there, so she was. But the Machine had also told her to stop looking for Shaw, which she would never do. It was complicated. She wanted to rebel. She wanted to walk away and let Harold and the Machine fight this war on their own. They’d just abandoned Shaw. What right did they have to her help? How could the Machine keep giving her orders like the one person she cared about most wasn’t gone? It wasn’t fair.

Harold made his way back to his desk and sat down, ignoring Root, who was still leaning against it.

“I’m here to help,” she said finally. It wasn’t fair, but she still had a job to do. For now.

“Good.” He looked up to give her a small, encouraging smile before getting back down to the number. “Now, about Ms. Osbourne…”

“When did she die?”

“Six weeks ago. But she wasn’t the first.”

Now her interest was piqued. Maybe that was why the Machine had sent her. “She gave you more than one number?”

Harold nodded. “There have six others in addition to Ms. Osbourne.” His fingers typed rapidly against the keyboard and Root shifted so she was standing directly behind him, leaning over his shoulder with her eyes glued to the screen. He brought up more pictures, all women who looked incredibly similar. “All of these women had the same height and build, the same general features, and the circumstances of their death…” He clicked some more. “Reported as suicide. All of them.”

“I’m sure,” Root scoffed. “And their ages? All killed at the same age?”

“Actually, no.” He glanced over his shoulder and Root gave him a quizzical look. “Their ages ranged from their mid twenties to their mid thirties. The further back their deaths, the younger the victim. Dating back to 2006.”

“So they were killed in age order?”

“But some of their deaths were years apart. If any of these women were alive today…” He trailed off only for Root to finish his thought aloud.

“They’d all be the same age.”

“More or less,” Harold agreed. “They were all born in the late 70’s.”

They were both quiet as they thought through what could it all mean. It didn’t take long to come to conclusion, but Root didn’t speak. Her thoughts had strayed and she was wondering how she’d managed to get so easily roped into this again. The Machine had sent her, told her that she was needed, but She hadn’t told her why. Root had always been fine before, without explanation, with knowing only the bare minimum and figuring things out as she went along. But things were different now.

After Shaw.

She needed answers. After she’d torn through Maple with John, she’d left New York for a few weeks, searching for answers on her own and coming up empty. She hated it. She hated not knowing, hated wondering, hated looking out a window onto the skyline and thinking that Shaw could still be out there, lost to them. But she wasn’t done. Root wasn’t giving up, and the Machine had to know that. This was a compromise for them.

“Ms. Groves…” Harold prodded gently. When she hummed some sign of acknowledgement, he continued. “I’m afraid we’re dealing with another chameleon, someone who resumes the life of those they’ve killed and left behind. Moving from place to place and life to life.”

“It makes sense. All those women,” Root cleared her throat. “Were these the only numbers She gave you?” She asked, nodding in the direction of the computer screen. “If they’re all dead, where is she now?”

“There was one more,” he answered, “Mr. Reese is looking into it now.”

“I was just about to ask about the big lug.”

Harold refrained from commenting and opened up another image. “Morgan Chandler. She works in accounting for a medical billing office. Volunteers at a youth shelter for teenage runaways on the weekends. Pays her taxes on time. Everything in her background _seems_ to check out.” He continued to peruse the information in front of him, but nothing stood out. Nothing told them why this woman would have been a target for the kind of attack they were looking for, but more than that, there was nothing that told them that Morgan Chandler wasn’t who she appeared to be.

“Almost ten years and no red flags have been raised before? She’s good, I’ll give her that.”

“Dangerous,” Harold corrected. “Whoever she is, she’s dangerous.” There was an expression on his face that she couldn’t quite read. A memory, maybe. Something from before her time.

“Aw, Harry.” Root smirked. “So am I.”

“Believe me, Ms. Groves. I haven’t forgotten.”

She took one last lingering look into the woman’s brown eyes. There was a sense of familiarity that she couldn’t quite place. “Who are you?” She mused aloud. _And why does She want me to find you?_

She knew better than to let herself hope that it had something to do with Shaw. That hope would only end in disappointment. This had to be connected to Samaritan somehow. It was the only way that Her insistence that Root be there at that moment made sense. It was all a part of Her battle plan for the greater war ahead.

 _**17 December 1990** _   
_**Bishop, TX** _

Hanna and Sam were sitting with their backs up against the library’s sole YA shelf, stacks of books from other parts of the library made a messy semicircle around them. “What about this one?” Sam asked, picking up the nearest romance novel and waving it playfully in front of Hanna.

Hanna blushed as she took in the cover. It wasn’t any different than a typical romance novel, a shirtless man on the front, his long hair flying flying perfectly across a near barren landscape and his pants a size too small. A woman in 19th century American dress was hanging on his arm. “I don’t know,” Hanna giggled.

“Somewhere in the midwest, I think.” Sam looked at the cover again and nodded before turning back to Hanna with a wide grin. “You can tell by the little buffalo in the background, see?” She pointed to a small blob at the back of the scene.

Hanna eyed it skeptically. “I don’t think that’s a buffalo.”

“Oh.” Sam frowned and Hanna laughed again. “Well. Whatever is, I don’t want to go.”

“What about _this_ one?” Hanna pulled another one from their stack, this one from the section they were sitting in.

“That one’s easy. California,” Sam answered confidently. “Look at the palm trees.”

With both their eyes on the covers of novels and their thoughts on places far away from Bishop, neither one of them noticed as Cody Grayson, the lanky teenager a few years older than them, walked up between the aisle and leaned against the shelf opposite them.

“Hey, Hanna,” He flashed her a crooked smile that Sam assumed was supposed to be charming. It wasn’t. He glanced over to her sitting cross legged next to Hanna, but he ignored her like he always did.

Hanna offered him a polite smile back, but it was clear to Sam that she didn’t have any interest in talking to him. “Hey, Cody.”

He crossed his arms over his chest while he took in the sight of their piles and stacks. “What’re you guys doing?”

“Just reading.” Hanna shrugged.

“ _Alone_ ,” Sam grumbled under her breath, but if Cody had heard, he didn’t make any sign of it. Hanna, on the other hand, shot her a look, her eyes telling Sam to knock it off. Sam just rolled her eyes and went back to studying the cover of a book in her lap. Cody wasn’t there for her anyway.

“Have you read anything good lately?” Cody asked, apparently oblivious to their silent exchange.

“A few things.”

Cody opened his mouth, presumably to ask her for specifics, but before he could, the voice of Ms. Barbara interrupted him, calling from a few feet behind the small group. “Mr. Grayson,” she beckoned him over and he frowned before giving Hanna an awkward wave and walking away.

As soon as he had left, Hanna turned to Sam with raised eyebrows. “What was that for?” She asked, more surprised than accusatory. Sam wasn’t ordinarily the confrontational type. She was quiet and reserved. She kept to herself. Most people at school used to give her a hard time for it, actually, before Hanna got there. Hanna looked out for her.

“What was what for?” Sam played dumb.

Hanna didn’t even have to respond.

“He’s a creep.” Sam shrugged and avoided Hanna’s eyes.

“You didn’t have to be rude,” she chided.

“He didn’t hear me anyway,” Sam muttered before holding another book up. “Can we get back to the game?”

“I don’t want to play that dumb game anymore,” Hanna said softly. Her tone wasn’t bitter, but there was distance to it. “I wish I could run away from here for real. Not just in the books.”

Sam hesitated before speaking, noticing the distinct I to Hanna’s declaration. She wondered if it was an oversight or if Hanna meant to leave one day - alone, without her. “Where would you go?”

“I don’t know. Far away. And I wouldn’t look back.”

 _**Present Day** _   
_**New York City, NY** _

The snow was light and wasn’t yet sticking to the ground, but it was certainly making itself known in contrast to Root’s all black clothing. Small, white flakes stuck to her knit hat and dusted the shoulders of her coat as she walked down the streets of the city, gloved hands safe and warm in her pockets. She was looking for something. Or, more specifically, some _one_.

Occasionally, she would glance up at the traffic cams as she walked, making eye contact with her invisible God as a small sign of acknowledgement for the directions that were being whispered in her ear. It wasn’t far from the station, but she hadn’t told Harold where she was going. She got the sense that he wouldn’t approve. He would let her work on this case with them because the Machine wanted her to be there, but his guard was still up. There was still an apprehension in the way he regarded her, and she couldn’t blame him. Even she didn’t know what she was capable at the moment. What she would be willing do if an opportunity to save Shaw presented itself. Almost anything.

She found who she was looking for across the street. She walked up to him and followed his line of sight to the window of a large office building. She didn’t say anything, but he noticed she was there after a beat.

“Root.” John turned his head and gave her a nod, bringing his camera down slightly so he could meet her eyes. “I don’t suppose Finch sent you.”

“Not quite.” She returned his greeting with a smirk before resuming her attention to the office building across the street from them. “That’s her? She doesn’t look like a serial killer from here.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Neither did you.”

She gave him a smug smile. “I’m flattered.” She squinted a bit at the window, but didn’t even have to ask as John handed over his camera and she looked through the viewfinder. She frowned when she found that it was just the back of a woman’s head, brown hair falling just below her shoulders.

“I haven’t been able to get a better angle,” he answered her unspoken complaint. “She’s leaving for her lunch in an hour. I’ll tail her then.” She held the camera out to him, but before taking it, his expression softened some. A pause. “It’s good to have you back, Root.”

“I’m not.” She looked away as he took the camera back. “This is just temporary. She wanted me to be here. After we figure this out, I’m on the first flight to Indiana.” She hadn’t told Harold yet that that was the plan, but she didn’t think that he’d expected anything else. She didn’t usually stick around for more than a few days at a time.

John didn’t even have to ask. “Another lead.”

The two of them had gotten closer since Shaw had gone missing. They’d both lost someone close to them and Reese understood her quest for answers better than most. More than that, he understood her anger. Frustration. Pain.

Root nodded though she didn’t have to. “It’s not the strongest, but it’s worth following up. There was a spike in the funds of a small bank. Something off about their stocks and numbers. It wouldn’t have normally been on the radar, but…” She trailed off.

“The flash crash.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat that formed every time that day was mentioned. “Yeah.”

“You’ll find her,” John told her firmly. As if he believed it himself. She wondered how much he meant it.

Root smiled, but the expression faded as soon as it had formed. It hadn’t even come close to reaching her eyes. Not that it did much these days anyway.  “I hope so.”

The corner of John’s mouth turned up in one of his awkward smiles. He didn’t say anything else. Not that Root would have known what to say if he had. They didn’t normally do any more talking than they needed to. It had been all about finding Shaw these past few weeks. They related to each other, but neither of them were one for heart to hearts.

Luckily, they didn’t have to say anything else. Morgan Chandler was moving.

“She’s early.” John said what they were both thinking. Her lunch break wasn’t for another hour. They watched through the window, John snapping pictures as she hastily filled her purse with files he couldn’t make out. “Wherever she’s going, she’s in a rush to get there.”

Root readjusted her hat and gloves. “And she won’t be going alone.”

She stepped off the curb, only for John to grab the sleeve of her coat. “Root, wait. What are you doing?”

She looked from John’s hand up to his eyes. “Don’t touch me.” She pulled away from his grasp - he hadn’t resisted - and jogged across the street, dodging the traffic easily.

“Damn it, Root,” John groaned and followed a feet behind her.

As Root made it to the other side of the street, their number spilled out of the office door with her purse held tightly against her chest. She didn’t even get a glimpse of the woman’s face before she was power walking down the sidewalk. Root glanced over her shoulder to see John on her heels. She flashed him a smirk, but didn’t stop walking as she pressed on her ear piece. “Sorry, John. Places to be.” She fell into step behind their number, returning gloved hands to her coat pockets. “Oh, and by the way. You might want to watch out for the--”

The sound of a collision behind her finished her warning for her. She stole one last look over her shoulder to see John beneath a lanky 16 year old skateboarder. “Thanks for the warning, Root.” He rubbed the back of his head, which the Machine told her had just been squarely kicked by size 11 Vans.

“Any time.”

Their number didn’t slow down as she continued to rush down the sidewalk. Periodically, she would look from side to side and Root wondered if she knew that she was being followed. It looked like it, but with the haste with which she’d left her office, whatever she was running from couldn’t have originated with Root’s chase. No. She was running from something else, Root reasoned. There had to have been something that made her leave in a hurry, something that made her clutch her bag to her chest as she all but ran in the opposite direction of her office.

She turned down an alley and Root let the gap between them grow a few feet for good measure before she turned down the same way. With the Machine in her ear, Root wasn’t in any real danger of losing track of her. What she hadn’t expected, however, was for the woman to be stopped completely.

Root had been made. The woman whirled around breathlessly. “Who are you and why are you--” She cut herself off as soon as Root came into full view. Her jaw slackened and disbelief was written plainly on her face.

Root, who had been ready to supply an answer pertaining to one of her new aliases, froze in place. Suddenly, she was meeting eyes she never thought she would see again. Eyes that had haunted her for a better part of her youth. The sense of familiarity that she had felt earlier hit her with full force. This wasn’t Morgan Chandler.

“Sam?”

Her voice cracked. “Hanna.”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

_**15 April 1991** _   
_**Bishop, TX** _

Hanna’s fingers tapped rhythmically against the keyboard, her full attention on the game she’d been playing for the last hour while Sam watched surreptitiously from a few feet behind her. She pretended to be interested in the bookshelf that housed the library’s newest arrivals, but to no avail as she instead found herself wandering over to the computers, to Hanna.

She glanced down at the book that was placed on the edge of the desk. “ _Flowers for Algernon_ ,” Hanna commented before Sam could ask. Not that she had been planning to, of course. Things between them had been more tense recently and they both pretended like they didn’t notice. “You should read it. It’s awesome.” Hanna returned her focus back to the computer in front of her only to frown seconds later as the death screen popped up against telltale jingle. “Dammit,” Hanna swore at the game, “death by dysentery again.”

“That game’s so dumb, Hanna. I don’t see why you play it.”

Hanna looked up at Sam, meeting her eyes squarely. “Cause I’m gonna get to Oregon,” she answered seriously. There it was again. The desire to leave that scared Sam more than almost anything else. At school, Hanna was the only person that she had, and after what happened, she was just glad that she hadn’t scared the other girl off for good. It was all so dumb. She should have known better. _She did._

“Library will be closing in ten minutes,” Ms. Barbara called from the front desk. “Bring any books you’d like to check out to the counter.”

Hanna stood up without any more prompting, scooping up _Flowers for Algernon_ in the process. “See ya,” she mumbled distantly. She flashed an uncomfortable half smile and walked away.

“Bye.” Sam gave an awkward wave in return as she watched Hanna make her way to the front desk. She wanted to say something else, something more, but she didn’t dare. She couldn’t rock the boat more than she already had. It was a wonder that Hanna had forgiven her at all - though it could hardly be called forgiveness. They just didn’t talk about it, hadn’t once since it happened. Hanna had pulled  her aside a few weeks ago - on her birthday, in fact - to tell her that not talking was dumb and they were best friends, but she still ignored it and Sam wasn’t going to bring it up again.

Instead, she just listened from afar as Hanna and Ms. Barbara exchanged pleasantries before sitting down at the computer that had just been vacated. She opened up a new game and readjusted her fingers so they were resting on all the right keys. Computers were easy. Sam had always understood them so much more clearly than she’d ever gotten anyone her own age. They had their own language, detailed strings of code that organized every program, every command. People were messy. They had emotions and made mistakes. You couldn’t count on them.

She knew exactly what to press and when. The various screens of Oregon Trail flashed by in a blur as Sam continued to tap away, pressing the keys in exactly the perfect order. It was only a matter of seconds before the whole thing was over. _You win!_ Sam smirked at the ease.

From across the library, Hanna walked through the double door exit, glancing back over her shoulder one last time at the scene she was leaving behind. Sam met her eyes, but waited to stand until both of the doors closed again. This wasn’t the first time they’d left at different times, but like everything else, it was a bit of a recent trend and it made Sam uneasy.

Once Hanna was out of view completely, Sam stood up from the desk and walked over to the window on the far side of the room. Hanna wouldn’t have to walk home alone if it wasn’t for her. For her dumb mistakes. She wished that things could go back the way they were. She wished that they could just be best friends again. The awkward tension didn’t sit well with them, and it was the knowledge that she was responsible for it that was guiding Sam’s feet to the window. She’d been watching Hanna leave like this for the last month.

She remembered what her mom had said to her after it happened, the surprising encouragement that she’d never expected, but it didn’t make her feel any less guilty. She was supposed to be there for her, be there for each other, not the reason she ran away.

When she got to the window, Sam could make out the scene pretty easily despite the darkness and the shadows. It was Hanna. She was talking to someone through their car window. Sam recognized him too. He’d been in the library not that long ago, and she saw his car around town on pretty regular basis. Mr. Russell. He was always sponsoring Bishop youth events, and he was at the last used book sale.

Sam didn’t like him. He gave her the creeps, the way he was always staring, and what she saw now made the small hairs on the back of her neck stand up as Hanna opened the passenger door and slid into the dark car.

After Hanna pulled the door shut and car started to drive away from the curb, Sam made a conscious effort to scan for the license plate. It was easy enough to commit to memory. Just six digits. She’d memorized more complicated code already.

_925 EFK._

It was probably nothing, she reasoned. More jealousy, maybe. Or guilt. The license plate was just a precaution, a safeguard meant to be calm the uneasy nerves that she felt as she wandered back over to the computer. She would see Hanna tomorrow at school and she would make another effort to leave this all behind them. They’d whisper and giggle about what a weirdo Mr. Russell was and Sam would stop being so anxious.

_925 EFK._

Sam sat down at the desk. More kids had cleared out and the victory screen was still up and blinking on the monitor. She pressed another key. Maybe Sam couldn’t quiet the panicked worry that bubbled up inside her. Maybe Sam couldn’t control the way Hanna had distanced herself in the last six weeks. But she didn’t always have to be Sam. She didn’t always _feel_ like Sam. Like the weird kid who sat in the back of the class, scribbling strings of code that everyone mistook for gibberish. Like the loner with only one friend, a friend that she couldn’t even keep. She tapped four more keys.

_ROOT._

_**Present Day** _   
_**New York City, NY** _

It shouldn’t be possible, Root told herself. John had found her body, given her a proper burial. The mystery had been solved and the case was closed, but there she was. Standing a few feet away, visibly shaken and gripping a bag tightly to her chest was Hanna Frey.

“Ms. Groves.” She could hear his concern clearly as he addressed her, a quiet voice whispering in her ear. She appreciated it, but she didn’t need it. “Root,” Harold  pressed gently.

She ignored him, swallowing hard. “How about we go somewhere to talk?” Root suggested to Hanna instead.

With wide, rattled eyes, Hanna just nodded. Root wondered if she was in shock. If so, she could relate. She just had more practice concealing it. She’d lost so much at that point, she almost didn’t want to let herself believe it. If she did, if Hanna were really alive, who’s to say she wouldn’t lose her again.

“There’s a diner down the street from here. Follow me,” she instructed before continuing down the narrow alley. Her knees felt weak after the first step, but she urged her legs forward. She would keep herself together because she had to. She still had Shaw to find and the Machine to protect against the growing threat of Samaritan. Hanna was an impossibility knocking on her door at the worst time, but it was a visit she couldn’t say no to.

“Ms. Groves,” Harold tried again, “I’d advise you to proceed with caution.” She could practically hear him through the comm, scurrying through the subway station as he tried to keep a handle on the situation from afar.

Root smirked. It didn’t reach her eyes, but who could tell? “You don’t trust me, Harry?” She asked under her breath as Hanna followed closely at her heels. With repeated glances over her shoulder, she made sure to keep the other woman in sight as they rounded a corner.

There was a pause on the other end and she imagined that he’d taken a seat behind his computer. “It’s not you I don’t trust.”

She knew what he meant, and she knew what it looked like. The Machine had led them to a trail of bodies - numbers that Harold seemed sure were the victims of another chameleon - and at its head was Hanna. Whatever it was that they had found themselves in the middle of, she was connected to it in a big way. “I can handle it,” she assured him.

They walked through the glass door of the diner Root had been referring to and were greeted by a young busboy, a large black tub of dirty dishes in his arms as he cleared the table nearest to the entryway. “Just two?” He sounded bored.

“Just two.” Root flashed him a smile that caused him to stand up straighter, almost losing his grip on the large tub in the process.

He set the tub of dishes down on the table and tucked a rag into the front of his apron. “Right this way.” He gestured for them to follow as he led them over to a booth by the window. “Someone will be over in a sec,” he told them, suddenly wearing a toothy grin. He brought his hand up and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Is there anything that I can get you in the meantime?”

Root looked him up and down with an amused quirk of her eyebrow. “I don’t think so.”

As he walked away deflated, Root rolled her eyes and slid into the booth, Hanna taking the side opposite. “You look good, Sam,” Hanna said suddenly, softly.

It was the first time she’d spoken since the alley and the casual way she’d said it caught Root off guard. It was the kind of thing you’d tell someone at a high school reunion or a friend who just got back from a vacation to Mexico. Though for all she knew, Mexico was where Hanna had been all this time. (As unlikely as it seemed.)

She needed answers. She’d follow the Machine’s orders. She’d get to the bottom of the numbers like She wanted and like she told Harold she would. But first, she needed answers.

“What happened to you?” Root finally asked, ignoring Hanna’s stray compliment as well as the name she no longer went by. “With Russell…” She specified, knowing how loaded a question it was. It was a question she’d been asked herself on more than one occasion.

Hanna averted her eyes, looking down and then out the window beside them. She looked uncomfortable and Root couldn’t blame her. She could only imagine what her childhood friend had gone through. “I ran.”

“But how?” Root pressed. “When? Where?”

“It might not be a good idea to badger her, Ms. Groves,” Harold warned over the comm.

Root bristled. “I’m not,” she grumbled under her breath. If he wanted to see badgering, she could badger.

“Can I get you ladies anything to drink? Coffee, maybe?” An elderly waitress interrupted her questioning with a polite inquiry and a smile, sparing Hanna from having to answer. When Root looked up to respond that a coffee would be fine, she was met with a look of recognition. The rectangular badge pinned to her top told them that her name was Cindy. “Oh hey, sweetheart. Where’s your friend? I haven’t seen her in here in a while.”

Root felt the familiar tightening in her chest she got whenever her _friend_ was mentioned. “She’s away on business,” she lied with a charming smile of her own. It was easier than the truth, which was that she had no idea where Shaw was. That was the problem.

“Well tell her when she gets back that a stack of pancakes are on the house.” Cindy told her warmly. “She was always our best customer on Saturday mornings.” The _was_ made Root feel sick. As if the woman could sense Root’s unease, she changed the subject smoothly, like she had a lot of practice reading the moods of strangers. “How about that coffee, hon?” She looked over to Hanna.

“Coffee sounds great, thanks,” Hanna replied.

Cindy nodded pleasantly. “Sure thing, ladies, I’ll bring that right out.”

She walked away, but Root wasn’t going to let Hanna off the hook that easily. “As you were saying.”

Hanna sighed. “It was a long time ago, Sam. I don’t…” She trailed off and there was something in her reluctance that Root recognized all too well. Guilt. About what, she could only guess. That seemed to be the trend lately. Root at a loss, scrambling to put together the pieces.

“It’s Root now,” she corrected gently. “Call me Root.”

“Root?”

“It’s a long story,” she told her, remembering the first time she’d used the name. How much it meant to her. She wasn’t a timid thirteen year old anymore. Far from it.

“Right.” Hanna smiled weakly like she had a long story of her own. For a moment, it looked as if Hanna was done talking. Like two words of catch up had satisfied a 20 year absence of it. She turned her head to peer at the exit behind her and Root thought she might get up and leave. If it had been anyone else, Root would already have a gun pointed at them under the table, politely informing them that leaving at this point in time wasn’t an option. But she didn’t. And Hanna didn’t move.

She looked back to Root and visibly swallowed. She was ready to talk. “I wasn’t the only girl Russell had taken,” she began. “There were three of us. He said we were his little songbirds.” She shivered at the recollection. “The prettiest girls in Texas.”

Root could feel decades of pent up anger beginning rise inside of her, but she did her best to keep a neutral expression. As much of her own life as she’d dedicated to revenge for what Russell had done to her, this wasn’t her story. It was Hanna’s.

“He chained us up in the shed outside his house. I wasn’t there for long. I was lucky. I--” Hanna released a steadying breath. “The first night I was there, he made me sing for him. He said he wanted his songbirds to find their voice.” She shook her head and her lip turned up in disgust. “He must have liked it because the third night, he took off the chains and dragged me inside his house. Told me to sing for him again. When his back was turned, I hit him with the lamp on the nightstand and I ran. I ran and I didn’t look back. I should have. I should have told someone about the other girls there, but I--I couldn’t. I was terrified he’d find me again, that he’d know it was me.”

Their waitress walked back up to the table with two piping hot mugs of coffee, setting them down in front of the two lost friends.

“Thank you,” they responded in polite unison.

“If there’s anything else you girls need, just give me a shout.” Cindy placed two teaspoons at the center of the table and made her way back to the kitchen.

Root was quiet for a few long seconds after Cindy had walked away, contemplating the information that Hanna had given her thus far. If she could, she’d kill Trent Russell all over again. This time though, she’d do it herself. And she’d make him suffer. “Where’d you go?”

“Dallas. I had an aunt there, and I knew she wouldn’t tell my dad where I was.” Hanna took her first sip from the mug in front of her, but didn’t release her grip on the bag to do so. “They weren’t on speaking terms.” She paused to set the coffee back down. “I lived with her for a few years until she passed away. Heart attack,” she explained. “Then I moved west.”

There was another beat before Root nodded. There was still so much more she wanted to know, so many missing pieces to a 20 year old mystery, but there were other problems now. And she wasn’t going to make the same mistakes twice. “What are you doing here now?”

Hanna stiffened. “It’s complicated.”

“Allow me to rephrase that,” Root offered an overly sweet smile and took a drink of the steaming coffee. “Why is somebody trying to kill you?”

“Ms. Groves, allow me to remind you that we don’t know for sure whether Ms. Frey is the victim or the perpetrator.” Harold’s voice found its way into her ear again and she ignored him. She didn’t care. She was going to protect Hanna no matter what, and if anyone tried to get to her old friend they would need to go through her first. And Root almost hoped they would. There were very few things Root wouldn’t sacrifice for a second chance to make it right.

Again, it looked like Hanna was going to make a run for it, and again, she didn’t move. “I don’t know what they want.”

Root took conscious note of the word ‘they.’ “How long have they been after you?”

“Almost ten years now.”

“And?” Root prompted. She wasn’t impatient with Hanna necessarily, but if she was going to do something about it, she needed the details, and Hanna wasn’t being particularly forthcoming.

“They killed my foster mother.” The color drained from Hanna’s face as she seemed to recall the events that had brought her there. “They came into her house in the middle of the night, and they killed her.” She moved to take another sip from the mug, her hands shaking as she picked up the sturdy glass. “After it happened, whoever it was-- they set me up to take the fall. They knew who I really was. I don’t know how,” she shook her head, “I’d changed my name so many times by that point, but somehow--somehow they knew. They tried to blackmail me.” She lowered her voice and there was almost a pleading quality to it. “I’ve done things I’m not proud of, Sam, but I swear, I don’t know why this is happening to me.”

She wondered what it was that Hanna had done, but Root knew better than to ask. They’d all done things. Made bad choices. “How did you get away this time?”

“I tried to run again, but everywhere I turned they were there. I was in a hotel outside Seattle,” she recalled. “I didn’t know what to do or where to turn. Then out of nowhere there was a knock at my door and when I went to open it, there was nobody there. It was just an envelope,” her voice dropped again to a hushed whisper. “Inside was a new identity. Money, papers, everything I needed to leave the city and make a new life for myself. I was so scared. I took it, I left, and I never looked back.” Hanna shut her eyes tightly, visibly shaken. She took a deep breath in before opening them and meeting Root’s eyes. “I told you, I’ve done things to survive-- things that I-- But I don’t know where I’d be without my guardian angel.”

Root could practically hear Harold sitting up straighter through her comm. “Guardian angel?” They both echoed simultaneously. Root’s own heart skipped a beat at the descriptor. It couldn’t be.

Hanna nodded. “I don’t know who… But they’ve been watching over me. Whoever they are… They’re the reason I’m alive today. They tell me when to run, and they give me the means to do it.” For the first time since they’d sat down, Hanna’s grip on the bag in her hands loosened. She looked down at it hesitantly before glancing back up at Root. “I got this in my mailbox yesterday.” From the black bag, she pulled out a thick, unmarked manila envelope.

“And you think it’s from…” Root trailed off knowingly. The cogs and wheels turned in her mind and she almost didn’t want to finish that thought. Could it really be the Machine that had been supplying Hanna with identity after identity? But why? Root kept her expression neutral, but internally, she was reeling. Was that why the Machine had sent her?

“My guardian angel,” she repeated. “Yes.”

“Ms. Groves, I know what you’re thinking, but--” Root cut him off with an irritated flick to the device in her ear. She would get to him later.

“You haven’t opened it,” she noted.

“I was waiting ‘til I got back to my apartment,” Hanna admitted. “I was going to get what I needed and run again.”

“You don’t have to run anymore.”

_**4 March 1991** _   
_**Bishop, TX** _

The sun was low in the sky as Hanna and Sam spent the remaining hours of daylight sat on the top of the parallel bars at the small park down the street from the library. They didn’t normally spend too much time there because of the unsavory reputation it had once nightfall hit, but they’d been having a good day and Hanna suggested it. Sam wasn’t going to argue.

"He totally likes you,” Sam declared, looking over at Hanna with a frown as the other girl moved to stand on the bars, a foot on each.

Hanna scoffed. “No, he doesn’t.”

“He follows you everywhere,” Sam insisted irritably. Honestly, she was surprised that he hadn’t managed to tail them there. All afternoon she’d half expected to turn around and find him awkwardly standing in the shade of the only slide. Cody Grayson. It seemed like every time his interest in Hanna started to wane, she would just look casually in his direction and his ‘interest’ would be back with a vengeance. Though it was more like an obsession, according to Sam. It drove her crazy that Hanna didn’t see it for what it really was.

Hanna raised an eyebrow as she started walking - very slowly - from one end of the parallel bars to the other. “So do you,” she pointed out, clearly more amused than taking Sam seriously.

“No, I don’t,” Sam grumbled and hopped off the bar she was sitting on so Hanna could keep walking to the end. She crossed her arms over her chest and gave Hanna an expectant look that said she wasn’t going to just drop the subject that easily. “Well?” She prompted. “Do you like him?”

“No.” Hanna rolled her eyes and jumped off the bars. “Why do you care so much anyway?” She jerked her head in the direction of the two swings that were just barely keeping together, a silent gesture that meant Sam was to follow as she started walking over. She did.

The two of them sat down and Sam just shrugged. “I don’t care. I was just wondering.”

Hanna gave her a familiar look of skepticism. “You know, you’ve been acting really weird lately, and not just today.” She pumped her legs back and forth, urging the swing higher. “Are you sure _you_ don’t like him?”

“Gross.” Sam pulled a face and shook her head, annoyed by the even the suggestion of it. “He’s a creep,” she repeated an oft used description of the older boy.

While Hanna’s swing reached high off the ground, Sam remained stationary, kicking the sand under feet. It wasn’t necessarily that she was jealous of the amount of time that Hanna spent talking to him - though it was ever only polite pleasantries - but she thought that her friend could do better than Cody Grayson of all people. The thought that she’d been trying so hard to drown out of the last few weeks bubbled to the surface. The thought that told her that she could make Hanna happier than any boy at school could. She _did_. They spent all their time together, and they always talked about running away. Just the two of them.

Sam looked up at Hanna, her hair flying wildly through the air with each motion up and back down. She didn’t know where she would be without Hanna. The day that she moved to Bishop was one of the best in Sam’s short life. She’d run into her for the first time at the library, the summer before school started. They’d quite literally collided as Hanna had been carrying a large stack of books that cut through her eyeline and Sam’s own eyes had been glued to the inside of an Alan Turing biography.

Naturally, all of the books had scattered all over the floor on impact and Sam dropped to her knees immediately to help the stranger pick them. “I’m so sorry,” the stranger apologized profusely. She’d already had more manners than anyone else Sam’s own age.

“It’s alright,” Sam had responded earnestly, knowing she was just as much to blame as this new face.

“I’m Hanna,” she introduced herself with a bright smile and it was the most stunning that Sam had ever seen. When Hanna walked into her sixth grade class in September, it was the first time that Sam didn’t want desperately to be invisible.

It was only in the last few weeks that she’d really noticed her feelings for Hanna changing, growing into something more. Sam wasn’t interested in any of the boys in their grade or in Cody Grayson because the only person who had her attention was Hanna. No one else stood a fighting chance next to the girl with her hair flying in the wind.

“Hanna,” Sam said suddenly, her eyes still mesmerized by the back and forth motion of her friend’s swing. She knew that she shouldn’t say anything. She shouldn’t ask. But Hanna’s casual dismissal of Cody gave her a subtle hope, no matter how much she’d tried to ignore it.

“What’s up?”

Sam sighed and shook her head. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t know what to say anyway, know what words were the right ones to express the weird flips and turns at the pit of her stomach. “It’s nothing,” she backtracked. “I was just gonna ask when you were ready to go home.”

Hanna groaned loudly and skidded her swing to a stop by digging her feet in the sand. “No you weren’t.” She met Sam’s eyes accompanied by an expectant raise of her eyebrows. “What’s up?” She repeated. “You’ve been acting really weird lately and I know it’s not just about some dumb boy.”

“I told you, it’s nothing,” Sam said again with a shrug. She knew the other girl wouldn’t buy it, but it couldn’t hurt to try. She looked down to the sand that she’d been kicking up for the last few minutes.

With her head down, she couldn’t see Hanna hop off the old swing, but she could hear it. Her footsteps dragged in the sand until Sam could see her feet a few inches from her own. She looked up to see  Hanna standing directly in front of her, putting both of her hands on the parallel chains of the swing set.

“Just talk to me,” she insisted, rattling the chains playfully for encouragement. “I know you, Sam. I know when you’re lying.”

“It’s dumb,” Sam mumbled, feeling heat rise to her cheeks and hoping a pink tint wasn’t visible in the fading dusk light.

“So?” Hanna smiled.

Sam swallowed the lump in throat. “I just don’t want you to hate me,” she admitted, her voice only just above a whisper.

The smile that had been gracing Hanna’s features faded slowly and she looked troubled. “Sam, come on. What is it?” She frowned. “You’re my best friend. You know I could never--”

She was cut off by Sam pressing her lips to Hanna’s mouth. It was only a light peck, Sam pulling away almost as quickly and impulsively as she’d leaned in, but it was enough to clearly rattle the girl standing opposite her.

Hanna dropped the chains of the swing and took a step back. “What the hell are you doing?” She demanded as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

Panicked, Sam stood up and shook her head vigorously while her friend continued to backpedal. “Nothing! I was just--I--it was nothing,” she stumbled over her words, blushing furiously and knowing there was no way to take back what had just happened. No way to put the genie back in the bottle.

For every step forward, Hanna continued to shuffle backwards. She looked Sam up and down and for the first time since they’d met, there was something in her eyes that Sam couldn’t read, didn’t recognize. “I have to go,” she mumbled before turning around and running from the small park.

“Hanna, wait!” Sam shouted after her. “I’m sorry! Hanna!”

*** * ***

The walk home from the park had been one of the longest that Sam had ever taken. Her cheeks were stained with tears and her eyes were already red and swollen by the time she put her key into the lock of her front door. When she turned the key, she was surprised to find that it was already unlocked.

 _Great_ , she thought wryly before wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt.

With a deep breath in, she pulled the key out of the door and pushed it open. It creaked loudly, no doubt alerting the rats in every corner of the house of her presence.

“Sam?” A voice called from the kitchen. “Is that you?”

If saying ‘no’ would have actually worked, she might have. She wasn’t in the mood to talk, to relive the humiliation of the last hour. She just wanted to run to her room and hide under the blankets. She wanted to be invisible again. “Yeah, mom,” is what she said instead. “It’s me.”

She pulled the door shut behind her, making sure it was locked securely before dragging her feet to the kitchen. Tess Groves stood in front of the stove, dressed for work and with a pot of something Sam couldn’t see starting to boil. “Hey, sweetheart,” she greeted without turning around. “Mac and cheese alright for dinner?”

“What are you doing here?” Sam muttered, eyes purposefully downcast as she ignored the question.

Tess turned around with raised eyebrows. “I live here.”

Sam rolled her eyes. They both knew that wasn’t what she meant. “I thought you had to work tonight.”

“I do… In an hour.” She crossed her arms over chest and walked over to where Sam was standing, still staring at her feet. “What’s wrong?”

Sam groaned. She was really tired of people asking her that. It didn’t end well. “Nothing,” she grumbled. “I’m just tired.”

“Look at me,” Tess ordered gently. When she didn’t move a muscle, she tried again more firmly. “ _Samantha_ , look at me.”

Sam visibly cringed at the name, but still refused to look up, fearing how red and swollen her eyes still were from her walk home. “You know I hate it when you call me that.”

“Then _look at me_.”

With a clenched jaw, Sam finally forced her chin up though she still couldn’t meet her mom’s eyes. Instead, she searched the wall behind Tess, scanning the hands on the clock and pattern on the printed wallpaper.

Tess frowned and dropped her arms down to her sides. “Sam. Honey, what’s wrong? Did something happen with Hanna?”

At the mention of her best friend’s name, Sam could feel her resolve crumbling. The familiar stinging started the prick the corners of her eyes and the defiant set of her jaw began to quiver. Of course she’d guessed it on the first try. There wasn’t really much else that Sam cared about, wasn’t any _one_ else. “We had a fight,” she finally whispered with a shaky voice.

Without another word, Tess reached out and pulled her into a tight embrace. As soon as Sam felt the comforting arms wrap around her back, the tears started to fall freely. Tears that turned into sobs that shook her entire body as she remembered the way Hanna looked at her after it happened. Like she didn’t even know her. She should’ve known better was all it kept coming back to. She should’ve known that Hanna didn’t feel the same way. She should’ve known to lock those feelings away, pretend they didn’t exist.

“It’s alright now. I’ve got you,” Tess cooed gently into blonde hair as Sam covered her work uniform in salty tears and snot. “Do you want to tell me what the fight was about?”

Sam shook her head vigorously. She didn’t want to ever bring it up again. She wanted to forget it ever happened.

The two of them remained standing like that in the kitchen for several more minutes, neither speaking until the sound of water sizzled as it hit the stove. The pot of pasta was boiling over, but Tess didn’t move to take it off the burner. “The mac and cheese is gonna be all mushy,” Sam commented, her voice muffled by shoulder she was still burying her face into.

Tess shook her head. “I don’t care, baby.”

“Well yeah, but I’m the one that’s gotta eat it.” Sam cracked a small smile as she slowly pulled away from the hug. She wiped her eyes and nose with her sleeve that had only just dried from earlier.

Rolling her eyes playfully, Tess chuckled and moved to take the pot off the burner. “I don’t think it’s too bad. Looks like you’ll just have to add extra cheese though.” She glanced back over at Sam and winked.

Sam grinned through puffy red eyes and tear stained cheeks. She wandered over to the stove and watched as her mom poured the boiling water and pasta through the strainer and then back into the pot. “Can I mix?”

“You certainly can.” Tess added the cheese and handed her a large spoon for mixing. As Sam started stirring, she leaned over and pressed a light kiss to the top of blonde hair. “You know I love you no matter what, right?”

“I know,” Sam mumbled, feeling small as she focused all of energy on stirring cheap cheese powder into mushy macaroni.

“I love you,” she repeated firmly, “and I want you to know that God doesn’t make mistakes.”

Sam nodded, but didn’t tear her gaze from the pot. She hoped that was true, that God hadn’t abandoned her for what she’d done. They didn’t go to church every Sunday and she hadn’t read the Bible, but she still knew it was a sin. A sin to feel what she felt and even bigger one to act on it. But she didn’t feel wrong because it was a sin. She felt wrong because it made Hanna run.

“You’re perfect to Him and to me just the way you are. And He always has a plan,” Tess assured. “God works in mysterious ways. Even when it seems like everything in the world is going wrong. He has a plan for you. You’re exactly where you’re supposed to be, sweetheart.”

_**Present Day** _   
_**New York City, NY** _

After making sure that Hanna had made her way safely back to her apartment in the city, Root made a beeline for the subway station. If they had started the day in an unconventional situation with the amount of numbers they’d received, that situation had only gotten more complicated by the hour. The last thing that Root had expected when she’d reluctantly answered the Machine's call that morning was that She would bring her face to face with the first girl she’d ever lost. First, but by no means last. Perhaps it was some kind of karmic recompense. She couldn’t find Shaw, so the Machine gave her Hanna. It wasn’t an even trade. It was bullshit. But still. Root had every intention of making sure she didn’t lose her again.

She didn’t know for sure if the Machine was the ‘guardian angel’ that Hanna had been referring to. She wanted to believe it, though technically, she didn’t even know for certain if that ‘guardian angel’ existed at all. (She knew what Harold thought without even having to ask.) But if it were true, it wouldn’t be the first time that She had exceeded Her parameters. Root was proof of that, Her analog interface. This could be Her way of reaching out to them.

Her mom had always told her that God worked in mysterious ways. She just had the wrong God.

“Hey, Harry,” Root greeted as she breezed into the station.

“Ms. Groves.” Harold stood up abruptly. “I don’t suppose I can convince you that this is almost certainly _not_ the Machine’s work,” he predicted.

“You suppose right.” Root smirked and continued into the actual subway car while Harold limped after her. “This isn’t up for discussion, Harry. We got the numbers. I’m answering the call. Isn’t that what you do here?”

“You don’t find it suspicious that Ms. Frey’s number was an alias?” He followed her into the subway car while she moved to open the locker against the wall. “That the _seven_ numbers the Machine gave us are all women who died under mysterious circumstances?”

Root rolled her eyes. She wasn’t stupid.  “Of course it’s suspicious. You think I don’t know that?” She reached into the locker and pulled out a familiar handgun and extra clips. “But She has a plan, Harold.” She shoved the weapon into the back of her jeans and turned to face him directly “God always has a plan.”

“We’ve had this conversation before, Ms. Groves,” Harold told her tiredly. “The Machine is _not_ a divinity, and the sooner you realize that…” His expression softened and his voice dropped to a gentle whisper. “The sooner you’ll stop setting yourself up for disappointment.”

“Disappointment?” Root scoffed. “You mean Shaw?”

“Ms. Shaw, yes,” he agreed. “And Ms. Frey. Your faith…” He paused thoughtfully. “It’s a powerful tool. Admirable, in fact,” he offered a sad smile. “I only wish it wasn’t misplaced.”

She shook her head and shut the locker slowly and purposefully. “I won’t let anyone else die,” she murmured. The fire that had spurred her into the station still burned low and hot, but it was more contained now, no longer burning down everything in its path. “Not because of me.”

“Ms. Shaw wasn’t your fault,” he told her without hesitation.

“I asked her to help us that day,” she disagreed. “I didn’t try to stop her when she--” She cut herself off with a humorless laugh at the memory. She’d been stunned by a kiss she’d always wanted, but never expected. “I didn’t try hard enough after Hanna got taken. I should have made them listen. I  should have--”

“Root,” Harold interjected firmly. “You were only a child when Ms. Frey was taken. And Ms. Shaw…” He trailed off and she got the sense that she wasn’t the only one holding onto guilt about that day. “We were all in that elevator.” She didn’t want to hear this. “Sameen was one of the most stubborn women I’ve ever met. She didn’t do anything she didn’t want to and when she did, she couldn’t be persuaded otherwise. Losing her was…” Root looked away. “It was hard. But it was her choice.”

“That’s sweet, Harry. What you’re trying to do. Honestly.” She swallowed before walking past him to the open subway door, pausing before she crossed the threshold. “But it doesn’t change anything.”

Once again, Harold limped after her. He was worried. She knew that. About the Machine, about Samaritan, about losing anyone else. She knew what that felt like more than most. It was why she was doing this. He put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Can you at least acknowledge the fact that the woman you met today is very likely not the same person you lost?”

“Maybe she’s not,” Root allowed. She thought over the conversation she’d had with Hanna only an hour before. She had no way of knowing if everything Hanna told her had been the truth. She didn’t think Hanna had a reason to lie, but even if she did, it didn’t change the way Root felt. It didn’t change the fact that her number had come up. She was involved. The Machine wanted them to find her and the best way to get to the bottom of that was sticking by her side. “Maybe she’s done what she’s had to do to survive,” she echoed Hanna’s words at the diner. “We all have. But that doesn’t mean she’s not worth saving.”

*** * ***

Across the city, Root looked over her shoulder at the building’s security camera pointed down the hallway before knocking on the apartment door. She knew that the Machine was watching - She was always watching - but She wasn’t talking. Nothing more than simple directions from one place to another. Any information of real value was still being sent through static. Samaritan was close to finding Her location, but for now, She was still hidden.

On the other side of the door, she could hear footsteps shuffling closer. A glance at the peephole and she was met with a large brown eye. “Give me a sec,” said the muffled voice on the other side. There was the distinct sound of the chain being removed from the door before it swung open. “You’re back,” Hanna noted, sounding relieved as she ushered Root inside.

“I told you I would be,” she reminded her, looking around at the apartment’s interior as she stepped into the entryway. “I just had an errand to run.”

“Errand?”

Root smirked. “Just a little something no gal should leave the house without.” She patted one of the concealed weapons shoved in her jeans though Hanna didn’t seem to notice. She just gave Root a hesitant nod and made her way further into the apartment.

As they walked towards the only bedroom, Root took in her surroundings. There were no personal pictures on the walls, only stock photos and generic art prints, and on the side table beside the couch was a vase of fabric flowers. It was all very impersonal. She wondered how long Hanna had been living there. Not very, by the looks of it. Either that, or she was just used to slipping in and slipping out of people’s lives. And based on their earlier conversation, she knew that to be true.

“Do you have anywhere to go?” Root could think of a few safehouses off the top of her head, but considering the way Harold had talked about Hanna, she doubted that he would approve of her using them. There was another place they could go. She’d been avoiding it for a month now, but it was empty and Shaw had done a good job of keeping its location quiet.

Once they reached the room, Hanna shook her head and tucked one last shirt into the black duffel bag on the double bed. Beside it was the manila envelope, still unopened. “No,” she said, looking down at it. “Not until I open it.”

Root opened her mouth to respond and tell her that maybe she should, but for the first time in days, she was interrupted by the Machine. The direct contact that she had been so desperately seeking. It wasn’t a secret message hidden in the static of a television or a bundle of encrypted data. It was a single word that only she could hear. _Intruder_.

She didn’t need anything more than that. “Stay here,” Root instructed suddenly, pulling a pistol from the back of her jeans.

“Jesus Christ.” Hanna’s eyes widened at the weapon, completely blindsided by it.

Root scoffed and her eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint as she flicked off the safety. “Not quite.”

As Hanna backed away from the loaded gun, Root took a few careful steps forward, just listening. There was someone else in the apartment, and whoever it was had some questions to answer. (Willingly or forcefully it didn’t matter though Root certainly had a preference.)

She took another step forward and she was at the door to the bedroom. She turned her head slightly to peer over her shoulder and signaled for Hanna to stay quiet as she brought her index finger to her lips. A final warning before she slipped out the open door.

The apartment was exactly as it was when she’d walked through it just minutes prior. None of the stock photos on the walls had been moved and the tacky flowers were in their appropriate place on the side table. Still, Root could feel another presence. She was just waiting for it to make a wrong move.

With her gun loaded and ready, Root continued to make her way silently through the small apartment. A door creaked behind her and she whirled around quickly with her weapon raised, but the sound was immediately overshadowed by the unmistakable bang of a shot fired.

Her stomach dropped. “Hanna.”

Root sprinted the short distance back to the room that she had just left. She pushed open the door that wasn’t closed a second ago, and inside was Hanna. A gun in her hands and her arms outstretched and shaking, she looked white as a sheet. Across the room was a man flat on his back. He was dead.

_**Same Day** _   
_**Steiner Psychiatric Institute, NY** _

The room was dark, dank, and without windows, but Shaw had been through worse. It wasn’t the inhabitable cell that bothered her. It was the piss poor company.

Greer stood in front of the thick metal door, looking her up and down with an appraising stare. If her wrists and ankles weren’t chained to the floor, she’d choke that look right out of his eyes and she’d do it with a smile on her face. “I don’t suppose you’re ready to be more forthcoming, Ms. Shaw?”

“Well that depends.” Shaw looked up through a black, swollen eye and hair matted to her forehead with dried blood. “You wanna suck my dick?”

She smirked, but the expression was wiped off her face as quickly as it had appeared as Martine flipped a switch at the back of the cell. The switch was connected to wires and conductors that attached directly to Shaw in the center of the room, pumping massive amounts of electricity straight through her. Her entire body shook violently until Martine flipped the switch back up. Her breath was ragged and her heart felt like it would beat out of her chest, but she wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of showing more pain than that.

Greer tutted and shook his head. “Wrong answer, Ms. Shaw.” He met Martine’s eyes and signaled her to continue with a single nod before he walked out of the cell.

With a defiant set of her jaw, Shaw steeled herself for another round of the shock treatment. The switch was flipped down and again, the massive voltage ran through her. Her knees shook unsteadily under her weight, but she managed to stay upright once it was flipped back up. She readied herself for the next shock, but it didn’t come. She wondered what Martine was playing at.

From behind her, she could feel Martine getting closer to her. Maybe if she felt things like other people did, it would make her nervous. If she felt things like other people did, maybe it would send an anxious shiver down her spine. But she didn’t, so she didn’t feel anything as Martine’s breath hit her ear. “If you just told us what we needed to know, we could stop this.”

“Go fuck yourself,” Shaw spit before taking advantage of the proximity without further hesitation. _Rookie mistake_ , she thought, as she jerked her head violently to the left, connecting hard with Martine’s face. There was a loud crack, and she knew she’d have to pay for that. It was worth it.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two things. One, I did change Root’s age a year. In Bad Code, they said she was 12 when Hanna disappeared. I edited that date, making her 13 instead. It was randomly important to me to make them a tad closer in age. Two, I had a lot of moments where I really, really debated whether or not to include that kiss in the flashback scene. Ultimately I decided to write it in because I wanted to be able to explain the weird distance that was present between them in the actual show - though in all honesty, it was probably just awkward child acting.


End file.
